


Fruitcake Fight

by devilinthedetails



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Christmastime, Edmund is grumpy and jealous, Everyone Hates Fruitcake Trope, Food Fight, Fruitcake, Gen, Holiday Feast, Humor, Sibling Rivalry, boarding school fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: The last night of term, Edmund is stuck eating a boarding school version of a Christmas feast. Set before The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
Kudos: 5





	Fruitcake Fight

Fruitcake Fight

It was the last day of term before the winter holidays–three days before Christmas–and Edmund Pevensie sat staring desultorily down at the untouched slice of fruitcake on his plate. There was, he thought, no place worse to be at Christmastime than a boarding school’s dining hall with what passed for a feast with all the best foods rationed into oblivion for the war effort. They were all of them supposed to be sacrificing for the soldiers on the front lines. They were told that the soldiers on the front line suffered the most, but Edmund wondered about that. Surely there was some excitement on the war’s front line that was missing from a boarding school’s miserable attempt at a Christmas feast.

The main course had been overdone turkey garnished with gravy congealed to the point of inedibility. Lumpy mashed potatoes, nasty vegetables that must have been from tins (it seemed like there were no other vegetables ever served at boarding school), and dry stuffing had served as equally miserable sides to the lackluster turkey main dish. Edmund had only nibbled at foods and might not have even done that–preferring to go to bed hungry with visions of peppermint sticks and oranges his mother must surely have found a way to procure for them to celebrate Christmas and welcome them home for the winter holiday swirling in his head–if his Head of House, Master Halloway who wore a severe scowl as he monitored his charges sternly as ever despite the festivity that was supposed to pervade the atmosphere, hadn’t snapped, “Eat your potatoes, Pevensie Minor, and don’t shift them about your plate like that.”

Pevensie Minor. All the Masters called him that. A reminder that he wasn’t Peter. That he was eternally lesser than Peter at school as he was at home. That Peter got to be Pevensie Major or just Pevensie.

“Yes, Master Halloway,” Edmund mumbled because that was what he was expected to say. What he would be punished if he didn’t say. Miserably, he shoved a forkful of lumpy and now cold mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Master Halloway didn’t relent, but instead rubbed salt into the wound, continuing his scathing reproach. “Look at your brother for an example. See how he doesn’t shuffle his food rudely about his plate, but eats it properly.”

Edmund flicked a glance down the long table to where Peter sat talking with a group of friends from the rugby team. He was indeed eating mouthful after mouthful of green beans with no sign of complaint and certainly wasn’t pushing them from one side of the plate to another with no desire to consume them. In this as in all else, Peter was the perfect example–the one the Masters could point to as a model for others and especially Edmund to follow–and Edmund hated him for being that. Edmund himself was never held up as an example by the Masters except as a model of what not to do before they heaped demerits and punishment essays on him.

As he studied the fruitcake that would surely be drier and harder than even the stuffing had been–for even the best fruitcake was dry and hard, and school fruitcake could never be considered the best fruitcake–he wondered if he would break a tooth attempting to chew and swallow it. He felt sick just looking at the cherries–dyed an unnatural shade of green that reminded him of vomit–and candied citron.

His mother, he remembered with a pang, didn’t care for fruitcake either. Horrible Aunt Alberta often sent Mother fruitcake for Christmas, and Edmund thought that fruitcake was just the sort of present a stuffy lady like Aunt Alberta would give. That and the scratchy, ugly Christmas sweaters she sent him and his siblings every year without fail. Before Father had went to war, Mother would sometimes joke to Father when the Christmas fruitcake arrived that some gifts were made to be re-gifted. Mother didn’t joke any more. Not since Father went to war though sometimes she did weep into her handkerchief for reasons Edmund couldn’t understand.

Edmund was worrying over how much fruitcake he would have to gnaw at to satisfy the exacting Master Halloway when a welcome distraction came from a knot of boisterous boys further down the table.

These boys had apparently concluded that pieces of hard fruitcake would make perfect, nearly indestructible missiles to lob at each other across the table. Fruitcake slammed into their blazers and smashed into their trousers, battering the respectability from the rigid, boring uniforms they were expected to wear each day. It soared into the air, propelled by the wild, boyish throws, and hit the garlands of evergreen and holly that had been strung from the rafters in a vain attempt to impart a grim boarding school dining hall with a feeling of merriment.

The rambunctious laughter and jokes of boys releasing all the mischief they had tried–and mostly failed–to contain for the entire term echoed from the ceiling for a marvelous minute before order was restored by a glowering Master Halloway who sent all the miscreants to their beds. The fact that these boys were being dismissed to their beds without having to eat any of the vile fruitcake made Edmund envious, and he began to wish that he had thrown his fruitcake as well. Not at another boy, but straight into Master Halloway’s disapproving face. That seemed a fine use for hard fruitcake indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Briannakin's Holiday Tropes Challenge at Jedi Council Forums. My holiday trope was "Everyone Hates Fruitcakes"; my outfit was ugly Christmas sweaters; and my random winter elements were peppermint, feast dinner, and gifts. Thanks to Briannakin for the fun and festive challenge that helped me get into the holiday spirit!


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